Unfortunate Encounters of R Chase
by IzzBot
Summary: This fic is mostly based on Chase and House's relationship, post season 3 finale. Chase sees House at a store and tries to avoid him, to no avail. Also explores Chase and Cameron's relationship, as well as House and Wilson's. Prngs: ChH ChC HW. Slash.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own House.**

Everyone always makes fun of elevator music. But, really, grocery store music is not any better in the least. It has the same nondescript few notes that repeat over and over again, until it ingrains into your mind and you find yourself humming along. And then you smack yourself for humming along to this piece of shit music, and then the middle-aged woman with pink hair gives you the evil eye and guides her snot-covered four-year-old over to the cereal aisle.

Chase hated shopping. And shopping for food even more. All the same tasteless, manufactured grey mass mushed into colorful packages with clowns or something on it- with the intent to distract the low-IQ'ed customer into thinking that there is something decent inside the plastic. The blonde scoffs with distaste at whole aisles devoted to sugar snacks and cream-filled goodness- no wonder Americans were so fat.

House hated shopping. This is why he usually either forced Wilson to buy his food or he would order from some of the best pizza or Chinese food places that Princeton had to offer. But all that was in his fridge was some congealed, brown goo in a jar that was probably left over from when Wilson was still living with him, and so he was desperate.

As he walks through the electronic glass doors and feels the whoosh of icy air-conditioning, he clicks on his i-pod and tries to ignore his surroundings- and the ache in his leg as he is forced to limp down the ridiculously long aisles.

Chase grabs a few bags of salad and heads for check-out.

House grabs a six-pack and trudges towards the teenage employee blowing bubble gum at her station.

Snot-covered kid escapes his preoccupied mother and goes for a glass-bottle of what he hoped to be apple juice, but was actually olive oil.

Chase spots his former boss and ducks his head expertly behind a bouquet of princess balloons.

As a shrill crash echoes throughout the store, House only hears Jagger's voice float through his ear buds.

The now snot and olive oil-covered kid yelps and starts to sob. Chase sighs and takes his pudgy, little hand, leading him to the frantic woman the next aisle over. The woman ignores him and seizes her son by the arm, dragging him out of the store- leaving the half-full cart behind. Chase shakes his head and mutters under his breath, wishing that he could be running unnecessary and dangerous tests on some unsuspecting, dying patient, rather than dealing with bitchy housewives at the local mart.

House closes his eyes and becomes absorbed in the song, ignoring the mundane life surrounding him. Before he even realizes what's happening his cane is flying from his hand and he's lying spread-eagled in a pile of sticky mess.

Chase raises his eyebrows at the sight of his misanthropic, ex-boss going airborne and almost gets knocked in the head by the escaped cane.

The exasperated Aussie desperately tries to make an escape but the older man has already zeroed in. "Hey, wanna help a cripple out?"

Chase runs a hand through his hair and retrieves the rebelling cane from a pile of soccer balls.

House pops a vicodin.

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The night wind whipped against Chase's cheeks as he rested both his feet on the back of the shopping cart and pushed forward so that he raced through the parking lot. The wheels made an awful rattle with the added weight, but at least they drowned out House's complaints as he painfully limped after Chase.

Chase didn't grin or laugh or take any pleasure in his temporary time on wheels, but he reminisced of shopping trips when he was a kid. His tiny body would fit in the steel cart and his mom would push him and he would yell at her to go faster and she would break into a run. He would grip the sides and scream happily, mostly to show his mother appreciation for placating him. It was small moments like that which he missed the most. He never had much of a family, but he would give anything to even have those small, unnoticeable things from his childhood.

As the rattling dulls down to a slight chatter his ears picked up House's gruff, sarcastic voice a few yards behind him. "Having fun pretending to be the great, flying wombat- the protector against all things with canes? Because if it's alright with you, I'd kind of like my groceries back."

"I can't believe I'm helping you," Chase complained out of ear-shot.

After helping House up he had been doing nothing but pestering Chase for the past hour. He trailed after him throughout the store, adding things to his cart like beer, condoms, and he somehow managed to get three romance novels in without Chase noticing. At the check-out House pushed past everyone and made his way outside to wait for Chase to be done- leaving him to pay for everything. And now he had the audacity to whine at him. He wasn't his fucking employee anymore and he wasn't goddamn Wilson either!

So, then, why did he abruptly stop and wait for his grumbling annoyance to catch up to him?

House patted Chase's shoulder hard and Chase flinched at the contact. House grinned sardonically. "Well, thanks buddy. So nice of you to wait up for an old friend."

House was totally playing him. He fires him and still thinks that he could walk all over him. Well, that was not going to happen!

But Chase just rolled his eyes and asked, "Where's your car? I'll help you load this stuff up."

_And hopefully never lay eyes on you again. _

House raises an eyebrow and nods his head at the black convertible next to them.

"_That's _your car? I don't remember you having that." Chase laid a hand over the spotless, shiny metal.

"Brand new. Been making some changes and I thought I'd start with a brand new car. Like it, eh? This baby cost a pretty penny but totally worth it."

House opened the driver's door and hopped in, popping the trunk and gesturing at Chase to start putting the groceries in. Chase obliged, if only to not prolong this horrific encounter.

With a slam of the trunk Chase gave a sigh of relief and headed off towards his own car with the rest of the groceries. House's voice ghosted from behind him, "Hey, thanks. You know, you're pretty handy, I really should never have fired you."

His voice was patronizing and it took Chase all he was worth to not turn around and punch the living daylights out of him. But as he looked back and met House's eyes he saw the small trace of guilt that was lurking there, behind the sarcasm. House quickly looked down before glancing back up and giving one of his apologetic looks. It had taken years for Chase to learn to decipher House's looks, and he was just glad to not have to spend all his time observing the man that made him miserable: now he was free.

House suddenly grinned and shut the door. The bang held a sense of finality to it. Maybe this was the bit of closure that Chase needed. Maybe he would now be able to move on and forget that this insane fellowship ever happened.

He even started to smile slightly as he resumed strolling to his car.

And then there was a noise: a terrible, grinding noise that foretold doom and unimaginable torture. The sound of a car NOT starting.

_Ah, bollocks._

Chase played with the notion of just continuing to walk away as if nothing happened. He really didn't have any ties with House. Not really. Actually, he quite hated him. All the man ever did was abuse him and take advantage of him... and mock him relentlessly.

But, somehow. The idiot known as Robert Chase found himself jogging back over to the devil himself.

House rolled down the window and grinned sheepishly up at Chase. "Why is it always the pretty things that never seem to work right?"

Chase examined the immaculate appearance of the car and shook his head at the waste of such craftsmanship. "Come on, House. I'll give you a ride home."

**A/N: Tell me if this is worth continuing. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own House.**

The only noise that filled the car was the roar of the engine and the soft clicks of House's cane. He had been fiddling with the radio for the past ten minutes, before proclaiming all radio music as absolute crap and flicking it off.

Chase saw his knuckles whiten as he tightened his grip on the steering wheel. _Tap. Tap. Tap Tap._

He wanted more than anything to just yell, "Shut the fuck _up!" _But the problem was- well, what it always was- it was _House. _House, who never listened to anyone and who never held any regard towards acts of common courtesy. House- who would do the exact _opposite _of what he was told. So, if he gave him any kind of acknowledgement, he knew that the tapping would just commence with renewed vigor.

Chase had been so glad to be rid of the mind games. And now he was forced into playing once again.

House started humming, completely in-key, but maddening nonetheless. It sounded disconcertingly like a jazzed up version of _Yellow Submarine. _

His less-than-perfect car screeched obstinately as it was forced to swerve into a parking spot. Chase unloaded the obscene amount of food from the trunk, while House yelled half-hearted insults from the passenger seat. Bags hanging off every limb, Chase made his way into House's apartment.

He accidentally dropped a six-pack from shock as he peered into the apartment. It was a complete and utter _mess. _There were clothes strewn across the whole interior, empty take-out containers rotted on top of furniture, and there was a thick blanket of dust that covered everything. This was not a place that a grown man could live. A doctor, even. For shame. Chase awkwardly put down the bags and turned to House. "What happened to this place? It looks like some of the slums you forced me to break into when we had a case."

House collapsed on the garment-ridden couch. "Well, you know how it is. Bum leg and all."

That was his answer for _everything. _It was always his _pain _and his _disability. _Like it was an excuse for living life like a bum or a jerk or whatever he decided to be that week.

Chase exercised the notion that without the team House was lost. Completely unrealistic, but nice to entertain the thought, anyway.

As he started to walk towards the door, relieved that the reign of Housian terror was coming to an end, he felt a cane whack against his middle. "Hey, how about staying for a drink?"

Chase released himself from the cane's grip and folded his arms across his chest, paranoid about House's behavior. "Let me get this straight. You want me to… _stay._"

House rolled his eyes and shrugged, giving him the _aw shucks _face. "Come on, Chase. I know you want to. All those lingering looks at my hot bod, you've been waiting four years for this moment. But I _am_ trusting you to not take advantage of poor old me when I get completely smashed." House paused and gave him a pointed look. "So, come on, what do you say? One little drink?"

Chase stared in disbelief. "You… you _fired _me."

House raised his eyebrows but didn't respond.

Chase tilted his chin upward and tried to mask his astonishment. "You fire me… and you expect me to hang out in your rotting apartment, and have a genial chat over drinks? I'm sorry… but when did we become _friends._"

House grinned. "Aw… really, Chase, you hurt me. I've known you for four good years and I hold you in the highest regard possible. So, why don't you sit down and let's have a good old heart-to-heart like _friends _should."

Okay, so House wanted to _spend time _with him. Chase could deal with that, maybe. Resigned, he observed House's expression but couldn't figure out what he was plotting. God, this night had been weird. House shopping was strange enough, and then having to drive him home and to find this wreck of a place. Then, as if in the middle of a differential diagnosis, something clicked in Chase's mind. "House, where's Wilson?"

House mumbled into the beer can that Chase had brought him. "Why do you want to know?"

Chase oozed confidence, giddy from having something over House. "Well, it's just that Wilson tends to clean up every once in awhile. You know, keep you from going off the deep-end. And why else would you be shopping? You _hate _shopping."

House let out an overdramatic gasp and clutched his chest. "Well, you know. It's just so sad. Me and Wilson… oh, dear Wilson… he broke my heart. And that was it, we're over. Broken up. Done with."

Chase rolled his eyes and leaned back into the couch, knowing it would take awhile. "Really, what's going on?"

House turned on the TV and flipped through the channels absentmindedly. "Chase, I told you to ignore the rumors going around the nurse's station. Wilson and I are not a married couple… I don't rely on him to do everything. Much."

"I didn't say you were _married. _I just know that he usually keeps _this," _he gestured at the surrounding clutter, "from happening."

"Okay, okay. Geez, were you always this _nosy? _If you must know- which you obviously do- then I'll tell you. Wilson's been on this kick for me to make _changes._" House drew out the word with a grimace. "And he decided that I used him as a crutch and that I needed to learn to get along without him. So, now, I'm on my own. And, this is the result."

Chase nodded his head. "So, it was a bet."

"Fifty bucks if I could go two months without his help."

Chase had never understood their stupid bets. Although he was sure that Wilson was just using them to get House to do what was good for him. Like that bet he made Cuddy establish- that House couldn't go without vicodin for a week. Wilson had thought he was so sneaky- going through Cuddy- but it was completely obvious what he was up to. This was probably the same deal. He'd be out fifty bucks, but his best friend would be a giant step in the right direction. But, now _Chase_ was stuck in the middle. "So, that's what this is all about, then? You want me to be your temporary Wilson?"

House was easier to figure out then he thought. Well, okay, maybe not sometimes. But after being forced to be around him for four years, you start to be able to find your way around his twisted mind a little bit better.

House seemed unfazed, even though Chase thought he was on a roll in House-reading tonight. "Hey, you both do have the hair."

House suddenly peered closer and Chase fingered his hair self-consciously. "Did you _dye _your hair?"

"Erm… no."

"Yes, yes you did! It's darker. It's _brown._ Really, Chase, the nurses would be _so _disappointed in you."

Not like it mattered anyway, since he was fired.

"Actually, I kind of… un-dyed it." Chase avoided House's stalking eyes.

"Yep. I knew it. Cameron so owes me twenty. She actually thought it was _real. _But I told her- no ones hair can go from banana-blonde to straw-blonde to dark-blonde, all in a three year period."

Damn, Chase had been so careful. But the store ran out of that brand and then he forgot what shade… and DAMNIT! Now House had more to ridicule him mercilessly about.

"Why would you dye your hair, anyway? The blonde made you look completely unprofessional; Foreman always had to reassure the patients that you were an actual doctor and not just a kid playing dress-up in daddy's clothes- which you kind of were, come to think of it."

Chase chewed on his lip (ignoring the jab) and tried to think of a response. Because House was right (as always.) The blonde hair made him look like a kid. It was a huge mistake to dye it in the first place, but it wasn't like he could _stop _dying it. Everyone would notice it getting darker and would know that he did things like _dye his freakin' hair._ And then he would never be able to stop the mockery.

"Ah, you know, the ladies."

Chase thought that would suffice, he didn't really care what House thought anyway (He didn't, right?)

"Oh, right. The reason you took the job in the first place, right? The ladies. I believe your exact words were that you were able to tell women you were a doctor and actually have time to date them. Oh, how disappointed you were when you found out that you had to do actual _work."_

Chase's eyes widened. "Who told you that?"

House gave a sharp laugh. "Who else? Foreman. I think he was trying to get me to play favorites, as in _he _was trying to become _the_ favorite"

The Aussie felt his throat constrict in anger. "Is _that _why you tortured for me all those years. You were trying to get me to quit because you didn't think I wanted the job for the right goddamn reasons?"

House stood up and loomed over him in all his six foot two glory. "Oh, get off it! I knew that you didn't appreciate the job the first day you walked in. You never wanted to be a doctor, and I didn't need Foreman to tell me that." House took a step back and rested his chin on his cane. "Although, let me tell you, he did. A lot. What did you ever do to him, anyway, 'cause the boy really does _not _like you."

Chase shifted uncomfortably under House's gaze. "Foreman's a bastard. He thinks that because he's from the 'bad' parts of town he's better than me or something. Thinks I had it so easy my whole life that he should start making it more difficult for me now."

After this proclamation Chase wondered once again what the hell was happening. Was he having an actual _conversation _with House? Were they being _honest._ And where were all the insults? Yes, there were a few faint-hearted ones thrown his way. But not once did his former boss call him incompetent or an idiot… or British.

And bonding over Foreman-bashing? Way weird. Fun, but weird.

Chase got antsy and brushed past a towering House to the other side of the room, wanting to regress to their usual relationship: Chase quietly loathing while House completely indifferent, unless opportunities of torment came along.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw a new-looking guitar, the only thing that looked clean in the whole godforsaken place. He didn't bother asking permission (House wouldn't, so why should he. It's not like he was getting paid anymore.) and he gingerly picked it up. He fingered the frets with his left hand and strummed softly, noticing how in-tune it was. He played the first few chords to an old camp song and whispered the lyrics to himself, mostly for lack of knowledge of any other song.

Hey, if House decided that they would be friends then Chase would ride the wave… and enjoy the benefits- like his cool guitar.

And he played the instrument, later accompanied by a slightly drunk House on the piano, and they made their own jazzy little tune, that sounded loads better when buzzed. House fell asleep with his head rested on his arms, drooling onto the fine wood of the piano. And, only slightly after that, a light-headed Chase snuggled into the couch and forgot the fact that this was the apartment of the man who fired him with no warning… the home of the man he so despised…

And he completely ignored the high-pitched ringing of the phone in his pocket- 'Cameron Calling' flashing alarmingly on its front.

**A/N: You like? I'm starting to think of this as a 'practice' Housefic. A little lesson with the characters- 'cause they are much trickier than the sit-com characters I'm used to. Hope I'm doing an okay job with them. Review, please! **


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: These oh-so-wonderful characters are not of my creation; I'm just tampering with them.**

**A/N: Sorry for taking so long to update. And, by the way, will start to get more slashy or pre-slashy (perhaps, pre-pre-slashy), as time goes on. Also, it will have some Chase/Cameron and ambiguous House/Wilson. Thanks to everyone who has reviewed, alerted, and favorited! Enjoy.**

The first thing Chase acknowledged as he awoke was the annoying light shining in through the window. He squinted his eyes open, taking in the surrounding squalor of House's apartment; then went back to sleep.

Double take. _House's _apartment?

He rubbed ferociously at his eyes and attempted to form rational thought amongst the chaos. _Okay, calm down. What did I do last night? Went shopping, saw House, drove him home. And then… drank. Damn._

He groaned aloud, which turned into a snort as he saw House's body crouched over the piano, forehead lying against the wood and gentle snores emitting from his comatose form. _That cannot be comfortable. _

He _could_ wake him up and lead him over to the couch so that House wouldn't wake up with a crick in his neck – but he won't. Chase hoped he would stay asleep and fail to notice the Australian sneaking out of the apartment.

But first Chase had to pee, badly.

As he returned from the bathroom, he was thankful to see House still sleeping peacefully. He couldn't help but observe him for a few seconds. Take in his ex-boss' vulnerable form. It was unnerving, being able to see him like this. Chase quickly averted his eyes, inexplicably embarrassed.

At the door he turned for one last look – to find House's piercing blue eyes staring back at him. He suddenly found himself paralyzed. "So, Chase, you take advantage of me then leave. Cameron was right - you really are a terrible date."

His mocking smile came back and, for some reason, it made Chase sigh in relief. In response to House's remark (the man apparently never got tired of innuendos), Chase just shook his head and started for the door – only to be interrupted by House's phone.

He rolled his eyes when House ordered him to answer it. He would've left right then but he noticed the older man rubbing his leg, obviously in pain. Well, that's what sleeping on a piano bench would do to you. He swiped the phone, watching House pop a couple vicodin and stretch out sore limbs. "Hello, House's house. Um, place. Residence."

The voice that answered him was confused. "Chase?"

"Wilson?"

For some reason, he felt like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

Chase heard Wilson sigh, then pause. He paced in front of House impatiently.

"You're not cleaning for him, are you?"

"What?" Chase was in disbelief. These men were _insane. _

"Tell House that he can't just replace me and expect to get the money."

Wilson sounded so serious that Chase couldn't help but laughing. "You have got to be kidding me. It's fifty lousy bucks."

Whoops. Did he just say that out loud? He usually tried to refrain from mocking department heads. House listened in on the conversation with an intrigued expression.

"Ah, so he did tell you. I figured. Put him on the phone, please."

"Gladly."

He tossed House the phone. He expertly caught it with one hand. "Yep."

Chase stared at the ground and shuffled his feet in the direction of the door, wanting to hear the conversation but not wanting to be scolded for spying. House ended the conversation with: "Yeah. Nope. Of _course_. Fine! Bye."

It was during the 'bye' that Chase's cell phone went off. He groaned when he saw who it was. He flipped it open. "Hey, Cameron. I am so sor-"

He couldn't finish his apology, though, as Cameron's accusations had already hit his ears. "Where were you Chase? We've only been living together for three days and you already don't come home."

"I'm sorry! I have a really good explanation, I swear."

"Fine. What is it, then?"

Chase bit his cheek, weighing his options. The truth was stranger than anything he could make up. Apparently, he took too long thinking for Cameron, though. She didn't sound as mad anymore, more like… resigned. "Chase – Robert – we don't have to do this, you know. _You _are the one who asked me to move in. Just- tell me now. I won't scream or refuse…"

Chase held his breath as she continued to speak. "I can leave. Say the word, and I'll leave."

He was so tired of this. He couldn't take it anymore. She always ran - away from him, away from herself, away from the possibility of being committed. She may have been the one who had instigated the initial sex, but he was the one who had been pushing for a relationship. He wished he hadn't now. Because he had been wrong. They could never work; she didn't love him.

It wasn't until House grunted at him that he realized he had been silent for far too long. "Cameron! No – don't leave! Please…"

She had already hung up.

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Chase held his soothingly warm coffee cup up to his lip and tentatively sipped at the scalding hotness. He and House sat at a greasy diner that was located only a few blocks away from House's apartment. They both had cups of coffee and giant heaps of pancakes in front of them; House's having been devoured, Chase's left untouched.

House had been continuing his strange masquerade of being Chase's _friend. _The intensivist could barely even fathom the words 'friend' and 'House' being in the same sentence, but he had always tolerated his boss' schemes, anyway. True, House wasn't trying very hard to act the part he had set for himself, but still.

After Cameron's call, Chase had sunk onto House's couch, forgetting all former plans of leaving. House didn't say much (no prying, imagine that!) just dragged him to this little whole-in-the-wall diner. The table was sticky and the service slow, but Chase didn't care much. He just sat back and watched as House finished off his plate and started in on Chase's.

Suddenly, House looked up from his food, and said, "So, you still call her Cameron?"

Chase, still stuck in his own misery and guilt, nodded his head. His eyebrows shot up, though, when House continued; stage-whispering, "Even when doing the nasty?"

He had that twinkle in his eye that told Chase that he was messing with him for his own amusement. Chase tried to look bored, but couldn't help a blush from creeping up his neck.

Desperate for a change in conversation, Chase spoke up. "So, what'd Wilson say?"

House took a big swig of coffee, and Chase wondered how he didn't burn his tongue off, Chase's still being too hot to drink. "Oh, you know, just pining after me. He can't bear being away from me, so he finds some reason to check up on me all the time."

"What was his reason?" asked Chase, curiously.

House rolled his eyes. "He told me that if I didn't get my ass into work, he and Cuddy would hunt me down and drag me there personally.

Chase was always somewhat jealous that House got away with so much and never got fired. Unlike him, who had been a great doctor and got fired for no reason. "Wait a second, why _aren't_ you at work?"

He tapped his fingers on the table thoughtfully, before coming up with, "It's boring."

Chase wondered at that. True, there were times when they wouldn't have a patient and it could get kind of slow. That whole first year in diagnostics, before Foreman came, was mostly spent doing crosswords and watching House get yelled at by Cuddy. Oh, those were the times. But since then, with all the crazy cases they've had, there's barely been a dull moment. Even the clinic wasn't as terrible as House made it seem. They had found some good cases there. And Chase sometimes met some interesting people, although rarely.

He suddenly ached for that. The seemingly unsolvable cases, the firing off of ideas, the almost miraculous recoveries, even the taunts he missed. That had been a huge part of his life, and now it was over.

He asked timidly, "Have you had any interesting cases lately?"

House stared into his coffee cup. "No."

"None? How could that be? It's been almost two months, you've had to have some cases," he asked, confused.

House glared at him. "I didn't say I've had _no_ cases, I said I haven't had any _interesting _ones."

"Oh." Chase speculated on why House would have changed moods so quickly. "Have you hired a new team yet?"

House met his eyes. "I tried. But then I found out that the majority of people are idiots. What a surprise."

"So, who have you been doing differentials with?" Chase was eager to find out how things have been working now that the three of them were gone.

"Oh, you know: Wilson, some med students, a janitor."

Chase was somewhat relieved that he hadn't hired anybody yet. Not that he wanted his job back. No way. Not a chance. Really.

Okay, maybe a little. But there was no way he was going to go begging House to un-fire him.

"How do you work cases with no team? Who runs the tests? Gets the histories? Save the patients when they're crashing?"

House held up his hands in defeat. "Fine, Sherlock. You caught me! I haven't had any new cases. Cuddy didn't think I could do a case by myself. She had always counted on you guys to stop me from doing anything too… drastic. Her words. So, as of late, I've just been avoiding clinic duty and bothering Wilson. Now I just don't show up most of the time."

"So, you fire _me_. And it's_ your_ life that becomes unbearable." Chase tilted his head. "Ironic."

House glared at him.

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Chase stood outside of his apartment, the door having an air of foreboding about it. He had the ridiculous notion that he should knock. With a final sigh, he turned his key in the lock and pushed the door open resolutely.

His felt a pain in his chest at the sight that greeted him. Cameron sat at the table, staring at her hands, looking lost. She was frowning and he suddenly wanted to walk straight back out the door. Instead, he simply said, "Hey, Cameron. Erm, how was your day?"

She gave him an icy stare. "And how was _your _day, Chase?"

Then, as quickly as the ice was there, it had melted. She walked over to him, starting to kiss him passionately, trying to pull his shirt over his head.

He knew her too well now, though; it ruined it. He knew that she was avoiding talking to him. She used sex as a way to escape. He shook off her roaming hands, trying to catch her eyes. "Cameron…"

She took a step back; hurt flashing across her face for only a second, before just looking plain defeated. She gave him a small, half-hearted smile. "I'm sorry I've been acting so weird. It's not you…"

He squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the break-up line. But it didn't come. Instead she kissed him on the cheek. "But, really, Chase. Where'd you go last night? You said you were going out shopping and you never came home. I called you last night… I guess you didn't hear your cell."

"I was at House's."

Her jaw seemed to literally drop to the floor. "Please tell me that you know more than one House."

He smiled. "Nope. I mean the one and only Greg House."

"Well, that's… surprising." She seemed far away all of a sudden.

Chase, thinking he was off the hook, started removing his messenger bag and jacket, entering the kitchen to get a drink. As he turned from the fridge, water bottle in hand, he found her standing right behind him, arms crossed over her chest. Defensive.

"He didn't give you your job back did he?" Paranoia seeped into her voice.

Chase sidled past her into the living room, feeling her eyes on his back as he went. "Um, no. It was nothing like that. I bumped into him at the store. His car wouldn't start so I gave him a ride. That's all."

"If 'that's all,' then why didn't you come home?" Her voice was accusatory, like he had spent the night with his ex-girlfriend.

"He had me stay for a drink; I fell asleep. Why do you care so much?" He asked, annoyed.

"I don't!" she said so fiercely that it canceled out the statement.

The iciness returned as she spoke again. "It's just that… well, I _quit_ for you and it would be incredibly inconsiderate of you to go ask for your job back." Tears came into her eyes. "I thought we were united, Chase - us against House."

Anger bubbled in Chase's stomach, forcing its way into his throat, flowing out of his mouth in the form of harsh words. "First off- you did _not _leave for me. You left because House is an ass, and with me and Foreman gone he'll only have _you _to torture!"

She was dumbstruck. "I can't believe you'd think that!"

She was talking to deaf ears, though, as her boyfriend continued his rant. "And the only reason why you're mad at me now is because you're jealous! You had always considered yourself House's favorite. God, you probably expected him to beg you to come back, like last time. And he didn't. _That's _why you're pissed!"

Chase was taken-aback by his own argument. He didn't know whether he believed it or not, but the thought caused a sinking feeling in his gut. They both seemed to give-up the fight simultaneously.

Chase stared into her hard eyes, scanning for any feeling of remorse or love. But only coldness returned his gaze. "If you two are so chummy, then why don't you go sleep at his place tonight."

It was an order, and he took it without question. He grabbed some clothes and muttered something about 'time to cool off' on his way out.

Driving in his car, the setting sun causing everything to glow red, he tried to decide where to go. It wasn't like he could actually sleep at House's. _Ha. What a laugh that would be. Hm, then I really would be Wilson, I suppose. _

Crashing at House's was such an intriguing option, though.

He couldn't, though. Could he?

**A/N: Please review. Constructive criticism is encouraged. Although praise is something I quite like as well. **


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: My deepest apologies for being incredibly slow at updates. With school and work, and my muse being on strike, it's been difficult to find time to write. **

**Disclaimer: Not mine and never will be mine.**

Surprise tinted House's eyes as Chase babbled on. "And, so, I was just wondering… you know. What kind of Wilson would I be if I didn't get kicked out of my house and have to move in with you? Not _move in _with you. Just crash here for a bit."

A nervous laugh bubbled up and then fell flat. Seconds seem to tick by, while Chase increasingly hated himself more and more. Who was he kidding? He was an idiot for thinking that House would do anything more than slam the door in his face. This always happened, for one second he would actually believe that his boss could actually be nice, and then it all comes crashing down on him.

He shifted uncomfortably as House stared him down. "You want to stay _here?_"

"Um, yeah."

Chase tried to edge his way into the apartment, but found an arm blocking his path. "Why the hell would you want to do that?"

He shrugged. "I dunno."

House tapped his chin. "This has some interesting possibilities."

"So- am I in?"

His question was answered by the door being swung open, a hand gesturing him in. The apartment was exactly as he had left it. He felt like such an intruder, but endlessly intrigued as to what he might learn by staying here. Not that House would just randomly spill all of his deepest, darkest secrets to him, but Chase was wondering how he would act outside of work. A yelp sounded as he felt a cane poke him in the back. "Ow! What'd you do that for?"

"Get a move on, start cleaning already." House grinned and settled onto the couch.

"I am _not _going to clean your apartment." Chase folded his arms, his defiance coming across as more of a pout.

"But Chaaaaase…" House whined, "Who else will clean it?"

"No way, House. If you don't want me here, that's fine. But I'm not going to-"

He was interrupted by House though. "You have to earn your keep."

"I can't just help pay the rent?"

"Now what would be the fun in that?"

Resigned, Chase grabbed a few beer bottles on the floor, sauntering into the kitchen with narrowed eyes. This was not going like he had planned.

An hour later Chase collapsed on the couch, jostling the cushions so as to wake a dozing House on the opposite side. He glared at the man who was just opening his eyes. Gesturing to the surrounding room, now spotless, he said, "Satisfied? Or would you like me to shine your shoes also? Scrub the floor with a toothbrush perhaps?"

House grunted, disoriented. "Nah. S'all good. Now go to sleep."

Chase rolled his eyes. "You're in my bed, House."

He peeked an eye open and Chase raised an eyebrow, amused. "Too tired to move; you get the floor."

Exasperated, Chase just shrugged and headed down the hallway to House's bedroom, not bothering to turn back to see the man's expression. Well, he didn't do all that damn cleaning just to sleep on the floor!

He started to feel nervous though, once he entered the room. It was so… _House. _It was his personal space, something that he would never let Chase see in a million years. He felt guilty, and sneaky, and couldn't help but smirk. He so did have a backbone! Take that, House!

The room was very dark, with only a patch of moonlight shining in through the window. The room was surprisingly bare, not holding any of those hidden secrets that Chase was looking for. He ran a hand along the smooth comforter, suddenly feeling exhausted. Not believing what he was doing, he sat on the end of the bed. Then, tentatively, laid his head on the pillow and cuddled up in the sheets and blankets.

He felt very, very strange doing what he was doing, but, well, he felt stubborn today. He felt like… not being quite himself. And if sleeping in his boss' bed went against the norm then he would do it. Logic not quite reaching Housian standards, but still.

His heart was racing and, with the foreign smell surrounding him, he was too uncomfortable to get to sleep. House was so going to kick him out for doing this. But, for some reason, he didn't fear House as much as he used to. At the beginning of his fellowship he would be at his boss' beck and call, putting up with the name-calling and the abuse. He would do whatever House wanted because he was scared of him, would agree with him because he didn't want to be fired. Recently, though, it had been different. He followed through with what House wanted him to do because it saved lives. He agreed with House because he knew that the man was right 99 percent of the time. And for that 1 percent he actually was able to stand up to him.

The bedsprings creaked as he tossed and turned restlessly. He jumped as he heard the tap of House's cane on the wood floors. "Chase, what are you doing?"

Grogginess was apparent in the man's voice, and Chase's eyes sought out the clock, finding it to be far past midnight. Chase could think of many jokes and sarcastic quips that the man could make right now to torture him, but House looked completely serious. Probably just tired. Surely would make fun of him for this tomorrow.

Chase groaned and rolled off the bed, shivering as his bare feet touched the icy floor. He attempted to smooth out his hair, which was sticking up in every direction. He brushed past House and stumbled toward the living room, attempting not to trip in the dark. "Night, House."

He yelped as he knocked over House's guitar, cringing at the ensuing noise. House sighed loudly from the other room. "Goodnight, Dr. Chase."

The next morning, Chase woke up to an annoying rap at the door. Rubbing at his eyes, he made his way to the door, wondering who it could be. He paused mid-yawn when he saw the incredulity on the man's face waiting in the hallway. "Uh, Dr. Wilson. I…"

Wilson seemed to be fighting between being endlessly amused by this or worried. With House it was always better to be worried, as he always had something up his sleeve. Chase took a step back and let the other doctor in. Wilson managed to sound perfectly polite and extremely unnerved at the same time. "So, you're living here now?"

Chase nodded his head, face heating up at the realization that he was greeting a department head in sweatpants and the reek of morning breath. He tried not to breathe too much as he said, "Yeah, it's just temporary. I should be outta here in a day or two, if House doesn't kick me out before then, anyway."

Wilson looked genuinely concerned. "I don't think this is such a good idea, Chase. House doesn't adjust well to new situations. And living with him isn't easy, I should know."

"Well, it's nothing like that. I'm not _living with him_ living with him. I'm just… erm…"

Why did everyone seem to complicate things? This didn't have to turn into a big House drama, Chase thought. Wilson was so overdramatic…

House's gruff voice interrupted his thoughts. "Hey, sorry to interrupt your heart-to-heart, but I was wondering if one of you could make me breakfast. I'm positively _starving._"

Wilson and Chase glanced at each other.

**A/N: Sorry for the lack of action this chapter, but thought I should update what little I had before people completely forgot this story. Please review! And I promise I won't abandon this, it'll just take awhile between updates. **


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: Not mine. **

Chase shivered as he stepped out of the moist shower, into the chill air. As soon as the roar of the shower had abated, though, he heard yelling outside the door. Curious, he leaned an ear against the smooth wood. For a quick moment his inner conscience, or maybe the morals beaten into him his whole life, told him that eavesdropping was wrong; that it was an invasion of privacy. Screw his conscience, Chase thought.

A muffled Wilson shout made its way through the door, "House, that's not a reason!"

House snorted. "Why do you need a reason? Maybe it has no reason, ever think of that?"

Chase could imagine them arguing: Wilson standing with hands on hips, disapproving frown affixed on his face. House was a bit harder to imagine, though. It depended on whether Wilson was in the right, if he was on to something. If House had something to hide.

"Everything has a reason, at least where you're concerned. The man with no emotional attachments, no compassion, no heart, took in the stray puppy-"

"Did you just call Chase a puppy?" House asked.

Chase huffed with indignation- he was so not a puppy!

"You're avoiding."

"You're annoying."

"You don't do people favors, House. You kick people out on their asses without second thought. What's changed?"

If Chase had been sitting, he would have been on the edge of his seat. There was a long (suspenseful) silence and Chase pushed closer to the door, not wanting to miss House's answer.

"Why do you care so much? You've always wanted me to treat the ducklings better, what's changed with _you?_"

Answering a question with a question. Did House not realize how transparent that was? It would only encourage Wilson with his questioning. Wilson was a master at getting House to admit something, Chase thought. A skill that he had tried to emulate, back in the day. There was always one vital difference between them though: House trusted Wilson. It was less about the conversational mastermind that Wilson was, and more to do with House. If House admitted something, then that is probably what he wanted in the first place. He would never trust Chase with anything personal, and Chase knew that.

Wilson's sarcasm was strained, worn out from the preceding argument. "Well, if somehow you got a lobotomy and were changed into an actual human being with human feelings, I would like to know so I can use it to my advantage. You know - have all those warm and fuzzy conversations that I know you secretly yearn for."

"Hey, I don't yearn. You're the… yearner." House responded, lightness flowing into his tone, the former tension slipping away.

A calm silence ensued, and Chase wondered if the argument was over. Nothing seemed to be resolved. But with House nothing ever was.

Wilson's deep voice was strong and assured as he said, "You have feelings, you know, even if you try to deny them. This thing with Chase just reinforces that."

"Shows _what _exactly? That I just care too damn much so I had the overwhelming urge to take in the kicked puppy? Hm, that metaphor does work." Chase rolled his eyes.

He imagined Wilson rubbing at the bridge of his nose. "I'm not talking about that kind of feeling."

Chase jumped when he heard footsteps start to pace just outside the door. As the clicks vibrated through the tile, Chase discerned House as the pacer.

House choosing to remain silent, Wilson continued. "Did you ever think it was guilt?"

Chase contemplated this – could House actually feel _guilty _for firing him? He had always thought of House as above all that, for some reason. He never thought that he had been worthy enough in House's eyes to deserve any type of remorse from the man.

House made a pfft sound. "Well, Wilson, you surprise me. I had you pegged to go with the whole 'you can't live without me' business. That I was just so _lonely _without you that I had to get a back-up Wilson."

"I'm not an idiot- I know you can live without me. But, obviously, Chase doesn't know that, otherwise he wouldn't have bought your story that you were _lost _without me, or whatever you said to the kid."

At this time, Chase was getting slightly annoyed that they were talking about him behind his back, not that he would expect anything less. Just, he was _right here, _for godssakes.

"It wasn't a story! Why would I need a story? It's not like I was trying to find ways to lure him here and make amends."

"Sure, House."

Chase's back was starting to ache from the bent-over position that he had been in throughout the conversation, and goosebumps covered his skin from the droplets of cold water still clinging to him. He repositioned himself, still not ready to give up on his persistent eavesdropping, although he feared they would have to notice him missing eventually. His ears perked up as another question (challenge) was posed, this time from House.

"Why did you come here, anyway? I'm flattered, of course, but showing up at my apartment at 8 AM on a work day is unusual behavior coming from a 'responsible' man as yourself."

"I… House, just, forget it." Wilson said so quietly that Chase had to strain to hear.

"_Now _who's being evasive?" House muttered, clearly intrigued.

"Fine! I wanted to come back, alright? The hotel has been driving me insane. The quiet just started getting to me, you know. And there's this stupid painting on the wall… one of those abstract things, where the woman has three breasts or something. And I look at that horrible painting every single night because I can't put up my own stuff, and this morning I just felt like smashing it to a billion pieces."

Chase could hear the grin in House's voice. "I can't believe I actually won."

"Christ, does it always have to be about winning with you? What did you 'win' anyway?" Wilson asked, clearly annoyed by House's smugness.

"The bet, Wilson! Our bet! It wasn't me that needed you; it's you that need me! People really misconstrue our relationship, you know. And you get all the credit. They think, 'Oh, that poor Wilson, having to put up with the mean, old grouch.'" House said, scoffing.

"Will you just shut up already?! You've already given away my couch to stupid blondie boy, you don't have to attempt to humiliate me any further." Wilson seemed to be going full-on hysterical, which was a strange emotion on a man that was always so calm and collected.

House seemed to be sharing Chase's thoughts, since the sarcasm seemed to lessen a bit. He was almost cautious when he asked, "_Your _couch? The last time I checked it was _my _couch."

"I… I'm sorry. I have to go. Just… forget it. If you want I can pay you the stupid bet, I don't care anymore. I think I'm going to go… somewhere. Tell Chase bye for me, I guess." Wilson responded, defeated.

"Tell him yourself- he's been listening in on this whole conversation." House said matter-of-factly.

Whoops, not as stealth-like as he had thought. Chase cringed, hoping that forgiveness came along with guilt. And feeling guilty himself for causing a rift between the two men. Then extremely embarrassed, because this wasn't the best situation for anyone to find themselves in, after all.

The door suddenly opened with a whoosh and Chase fell forward into the hallway. Mortified, he looked up to greet two sets of eyes: one pair bright blue and silently laughing, the other a deep brown and exasperated. The fact that Chase was dressed only in a towel did not help matters. "Uh…"

Wilson just shook his head, letting out a hollow laugh. He turned away from a stuttering Chase, grabbing his jacket on the way out the door. Before he left, though, he met House's eyes and something passed between them that Chase couldn't even begin to understand. Was it an apology? In that gaze had they come to an agreement of some sorts? Or was it just an acknowledgment of something that they could never say out loud?

Maybe it was just a look. That said nothing; that meant nothing. But everything meant something when it concerned House.

As soon as the door shut and Wilson was out of sight, House let out a tired sigh. Chase felt his face heat up as the man's penetrating stare was turned on him. He thought about attempting an apology- he _was_ the reason for Wilson being angry, after all. Or part of the reason. He was the 'stupid blondie boy' who had taken over the couch, anyways.

House wouldn't respect an apology, though. So Chase didn't say anything at all.

**A/N: Reviews make the world a better place.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

**A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed my story thus far, I appreciate it!**

Chase was munching on a bowl of cereal as House entered the kitchen. The half-asleep man took one look at him and said, ever so bluntly, "You look weird."

Chase did not respond, just waited calmly for House to make his point. Predictably, the man continued without a reply, "Chase, I think you're getting too comfortable here."

"House- shouldn't you be at work? Do you really want me to call Cuddy or Wilson on you?" Chase answered without delay- it's always better to change the topic fast.

"Have the day off." He said quickly, as he poured some of coffee. "Really, Chase, it's so… unnerving to see you not all dressed up. You actually are starting to look like a person."

Chase glanced at his reflection, and he did have to agree that he looked a bit more disheveled than usual. His light brown hair stuck up on one side, his cheek had a crease in it from his pillow, and he was lazing around in sweatpants and a Princeton sweatshirt. _This is what happens when I don't work_, he thought. For someone who usually prides himself in immaculate appearances, though, he was surprised at how much he liked not paying attention to anything of that sort for awhile. After years of extreme stress and maintaining appearances, he thoroughly enjoyed his vacation. Even if being aimless may drive him crazy soon. "It's a Monday. You don't have the day off. Why don't you go into work anymore?"

There was a certain way to deal with House, Chase knew. Number one: never let him stay on topic. The more he talked the deeper he delved into personal matters and the more he found out, the more he was able to control you. A bit paranoid maybe, the man _was _just talking. But it was better to be safe then sorry. Chase could almost smile as he successfully got House to get off track. "I told you – I was bored."

"You're a doctor; you can't just… be bored. You thrive on diagnoses, you live for the puzzle. How can you just… quit?"

"See, now, _this _is why I fired you." House said, turning to put his full gaze on the younger man.

"Wait, what? Because I ask too many questions? Or because I know you too well?" Chase challenged.

"Pfft. Don't flatter yourself- you don't know me."

House turned his back on him, ending the conversation with the action. Chase didn't know how to take this new revelation. It did make sense, though, now that he thought about it. House lived on… well, lies. He needed to know everything about everyone else, but made sure that no one knew anything about him. It is common sense (and House just loved common sense) that the more someone knew about you, especially the motivations behind actions, rather than just facts, the more they could hurt you. The more vulnerable you are.

"Stop!" House yelled, hitting him in the back of the head.

"What?!" Chase yelled back.

House had a positively pouty expression on his face, that kind of made Chase want to laugh, but wouldn't dare. "Stop psychoanalyzing me! I can tell that's what you're doing, you know. You may forget this, but I know you too. And I know that when you get that look you're not contemplating what kind of hair gel to use, although that's what most people _do _think you're doing."

"Wait, really? Why would they think something like that?"

"Hello… you've got dumb blonde jokes written all over that pretty head of yours." House said, eyeing his hair with jealousy.

"But, I'm not even blonde anymore. And I'm _not_ dumb." Chase said, trying to put some force into it, but just seemed petulant.

"Eh." House said, shrugging.

Chase muttered to himself, "Went to all the best schools, skipped two grades, graduated top of my class, and this is what I get!"

"I'm not saying you _are _dumb, just that you look dumb. Which actually helps you out, overall, because then you can exceed expectations. Now, if you _looked _smart, but were actually a complete moron, then you would be a constant disappointment."

Chase tilted his head, thought about it for a moment, and then agreed. He also decided that this conversation was getting him nowhere. "Can we spend a moment _not _talking about my looks? Don't you have anything better to do… like, I don't know… save lives, maybe?"

"Oh, your sarcasm slays me, Doctor Chase." House said overdramatically, rolling his eyes.

Chase grinned, trying to hide it with another bite of Cheerios. "Go to work already!"

"What about you? You haven't gotten a new job, yet. How very hypocritical of you- calling me lazy."

"I'm… waiting to get called."

"Yeah, from where?" House smirked.

Chase just raised an eyebrow and stood up, steering House towards the door. House badgered him all the way to the hallway, where Chase threw his keys at him. "House, go to _work. _Before Cuddy decides enough is enough and fires you."

"Oh, Cuddy adores me. Could she fire this face?" House said, puckering out his lower-lip and giving Chase an angelic look.

Chase heard House's laugh through the door, and smiled.

CHCHCHCHCHCHCHCHHCHCCHCHHCHCHCH

It was about two miles away from House's apartment that Chase suddenly realized that he had no friends. This was epiphany for him because, while not an extreme partier or anything, he still usually had a fair amount of people to hang out with. Sometime during the first couple years of his fellowship, though, he seemed to have lost touch. So, now, he was driving around New Jersey aimlessly, slightly shocked at this predicament.

He could visit Cameron, he knew. A knot formed in his stomach at the thought, though, he felt so guilty. He never called her after the one fight they had, and the longer he waited the guiltier he felt, and the worse he felt the more he procrastinated the conversation.

For a moment he contemplated giving Foreman a call, then rejected the idea. Maybe in a few weeks, with Cameron as back-up. He could only imagine the look on Foreman's face if he knew that he was living with their old boss. _Not _living _with, living with, _Chase reminded himself.

The parkway was packed with vacation travelers, and the cars were at a standstill. Chase didn't care, though; there was nowhere he actually had to be. As strange as that felt, it was a freeing sentiment. His whole life had been about responsibility and work. Constant schedules and order and studying and hiding behind this façade. He was still in his freaking twenties, for godssakes, his whole life shouldn't be about work!

So, what Chase did, was put the top down of the car, blasted the radio, put his seat back, and got a suntan while waiting for the worst traffic jam in history to be over.

**A/N: Sorry for lack of action this chapter, it was originally supposed to have more to it but I was… well, lazy. Please review.**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: I have not read one Chase/Cameron story ever… I actually don't know why I decided to focus so much on them in this story. Maybe because the writers of House have decided to abandon them (well, mostly Chase) this season. Also, this fic was started before the fourth season, when I had no idea what was going to happen. So, it will have a mixture of what my original plans for the characters were, and what actually happened. And, of course, my sincerest apologies for being the lazy ass I am and not updating in forever. Whew… on with the story!**

**Disclaimer: House MD is property of David Shore. I am merely playing with the characters to my fancy. **

Chase sat in the front seat of his car, AC on full blast, icy air cooling his face. Music turned on loud pumped through the car, through him, a futile attempt at drowning out his thoughts.

Cameron.

He had never been one to become needy or overly attached in relationships. He liked flirting and dates and casual sex… Well, at least he _had _liked that. Somehow he had changed into this person… this person who parked outside of their own freaking apartment for over an hour because they were too afraid to go inside and have an actual conversation.

He was sure she was going to break up with him.

One part of his brain told him to just get on with his life. This self-sabotaging, dysfunctional _thing _he and Cameron had going needed to stop. When he thought about her… he felt this fear- he didn't want to lose her. But, besides that, he was strangely ambivalent. He did love her, in a way. He just needed to figure out what that way was.

He turned off the car. Opening the door, he let the stuffy, hot air penetrate the artificial coolness of the car; he started sweating immediately. He ran a hand through his hair, suddenly realizing that he was due for a good wash, and strode up to his front door.

He found her in the kitchen. She didn't acknowledge him at first, head turned away, eyes gazing at nothing. Pulling out a chair, he sat down and just watched her, trying to see into her mysterious mind. Finally, he said calmly, "We need to talk."

She finally turned to meet his eyes. Ignoring his statement, she said, "I got a job at the hospital."

Inside, Chase was ablaze with anger… and confusion. This was a betrayal, even if he told himself that he was just overreacting. He kept his face expressionless, though, as he asked, "Are you working for House again?"

It was just like House to screw with him by not mentioning that Cameron had come running back to him. The walls were closing in…

He fiddled with a lone pencil that lay on the table. It flew out of his hand as Cameron finally answered. "No, I'm… head of the ER."

Chase's stomach coiled tight, and he couldn't for the life of him understand why. "That's an… odd choice."

The ER was the last place Chase would have pegged Cameron to go. It just didn't seem to suit her. It was butchery in there, getting people taped and bandaged up as soon as possible before moving on to the next person. Rarely was there a truly interesting case, and never did you get to bond with the patients like when they were the top priority. And Cameron's empathy and compassion towards the patients were what made her unique in the harsh world of medicine.

As if reading his mind, Cameron said simply, "It's different. It's a change. I do miss… House. And the job. But I needed to get out of that place where everything is a cruel competition. The more time you spend with him the more you start to believe in his screwed-up ideology that life is empty, that people are mean and worthless, that it all means nothing… you think that I left because I was too afraid to take him on by myself, and maybe you're right." Chase's gaze was serious as he concentrated on what she was saying. "I tried to tell myself that I was simply supporting you… but that was just an excuse. An excuse for the fact that… I'm weak."

Chase's heart seemed to flutter rather uncharacteristically for a second. Not in response to her pain, of course, but the fact that she was being honest. Vulnerable, in fact. There were many different faces of Cameron. There was the aggressive one that kissed him passionately; there was stoic Cameron that ran off brilliant diagnoses without a blink of the eye; and there was this Cameron… the Cameron that let her true self show through… surprisingly low self-esteem included. He couldn't help but walk over and hug her, breathing in her familiar scent and reveling in the warmth of her body. "You're not weak… you're right. It was time for a change… for all of us. House included. And if this makes you happy, then I'm happy."

He leaned his head back to look into her bright blue eyes. This was what he wanted, he told himself. He wanted her. His lips melded with hers and it felt right…

And yet…

As her soft hands wove their way through his hair and his hands ran over her body, a mean, little voice found its way into his conscious. _She's just manipulating you._

He mentally shushed the intruding voice and pulled Cameron in for a viciously passionate kiss. She shuddered against him and he deepened the kiss even further. _She's going to leave you._

Her hands traveled an enticing trail across his chest, and he let her raise his shirt over his head. As she led him to the bedroom, the voice was pushed back to the farthest recesses of his mind.

HOUSEHOUSEHOUSEHOUSEHOUSEHOUSEHOUSEHOUSEHOUSE

It was hot. Sweltering. The thin sheets stuck to Chase's skin as he rolled over, surprised to find Cameron lying next to him. Somehow, he had become used to waking up on House's itchy, uncomfortable couch, hearing his light snores from the next room.

He wondered if House noticed that he stayed out all night. Not that he would care, but still.

Chase glanced outside and saw that the streets were still bathed in darkness. A quick glance at the clock told him why- 3 AM. Cameron was silent and still on her side of the bed, curled into herself, turned away from him. When they had first started going out, _really _going out, not the whole casual sex in supply closets part of their relationship, he would always wake up to find her snuggled against him, head resting lightly on his shoulder, arm thrown haphazardly across his waist. He couldn't help but analyze this sudden change.

This was his apartment… but it all seemed so foreign. For two weeks he had been sleeping at House's, reluctant to kick Cameron out of his place, especially since it had only been a couple weeks since he convinced her to sell her apartment. Also, he was ignoring the fact that they were arguing in the first place. Maybe she was too, since she hadn't started looking for a new place. Maybe there was hope for them after all.

His bedroom used to have the smell of aftershave and mustiness, since he always neglected to open the windows. Now the unmistakable scent of flowers hung in the air, like it was marked. He got inexplicably irritated as he noticed more things that were changed. His CD collection was alphabetized, his books lay in a neat line on his bookshelf instead of in one big clump, and, worst of all, the tiny photograph he had of his mother was taken out of his bedside drawer and put nicely on his desk. Why would she even think to do that?

His legs moved restlessly against the itchy blankets and droplets of sweat rolled off his forehead. This was ridiculous, did Cameron not believe in air-conditioning or something?

He knew that it was stupid. His inner psychiatrist told him that he was not aggravated at Cameron for moving a picture, or angry about the heat, but rather he was avoiding a deeper issue. He hated deeper issues… and he hated psychiatrists for that matter. His breath was ragged as he rolled off of the bed, pulling on his pants as he went.

He paced back and forth across the room, glancing at Cameron's sleeping form as he went. He wanted to leave, wanted to go back to ignoring his problems, but he didn't want to betray one of the only people he had in his life. Familiarity wasn't that solid of a reason to stay in a relationship, but his unwillingness to give that comfort up seemed to control him.

He had thought House was the one who hated change.

The muggy air seemed to be choking him. He ripped the window open desperately, taking deep breaths of the cool, night air. He heard Cameron stir on the bed. He mentally admonished himself for waking her with his sort of panic attack. Her voice was soft and warm, which made him hate himself for being such a jackass. "Hey."

Avoiding her curious gaze, he grabbed his shirt off the floor and pulled it roughly over his head. His throat seemed constricted, not knowing how to start saying what he felt. If he even wanted to.

She smiled up at him, gesturing for him to come back to bed. Instead, he found his feet moving in the direction of the door. "Chase? What are you doing?"

He had no idea. Maybe he should figure that out before making a huge mistake. But, of course, all he did was gaze into her eyes and say in a surprisingly deep voice, "I love you. But…I don't know if I want to be with you. I'm sorry."

And he left, cold silence stalking him all the way back to House's apartment.

**A/N: Apologies for any OOCness or grammar errors. I welcome any form of criticism or praise. Thank you for reading. **


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